


Father and Daughter

by JustClem



Series: Pirates [12]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Chloe is more alike with her father than everyone thinks, Cute, Cutesy, F/F, Feels, Flashbacks, Wholesome, pricefield
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-11
Updated: 2019-09-11
Packaged: 2020-10-14 00:28:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20591642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustClem/pseuds/JustClem
Summary: “I feel like I’m insulting him.”Max cups her cheek and shakes her head. Full of conviction, she says, “You’re making him proud.”Chloe searches something in her, eyes darting wildly. “You really think so?”Max knows so.~Once upon a time, a Price loved a little girl he called his, and promised to cherish and protect her.And now, years later, another Price loves that same girl, and fulfils that very promise.





	Father and Daughter

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this all through 3 of my classes. Each time I wrote, I kept wondering when the teachers would notice me. But they never did. And I finished this story in 6 hours on a Monday, all the way through Biology, Lit class, and some other class I’ve forgotten about. 
> 
> That's what you call being sneaky. Ninjas, take notes.
> 
> Enjoy!!

William called her ‘cutie’, and now, years later, her daughter does the same. Max freezes the first time she hears it. She turns slowly to look at Chloe and utters a small “what?” that gets lost through the echoes of their apartment. 

But Chloe doesn’t seem to realise. She smiles warmly at Max - and there’s something about that smile that erases her fears even before they pull into a kiss - and leaves for work, but not before grabbing a pack of cigars. 

And Max is left there, standing and staring blankly like an idiot, wondering if she heard correctly or if she needs to go to the doctor and check up on her ears.

…

Chloe keeps calling her that, and once the initial shock wears off, Max finds herself feeling happy whenever Chloe refers to her with that name.

“Why do you call me that?” Max asks one night as they cuddle in bed together. Max’s face is buried in the crook of Chloe’s neck, so her voice is kind of muffled, but she’s pretty sure Chloe understands her.

“Call you what?”

There is a small pause. “Cutie.”

Max grips at Chloe’s shoulders when she shifts. Her chin tickles the crown of Max’s head. Max guesses Chloe’s trying to look at her. “Do you not like it?”

Not when others call her that, no. When strangers - and even friends - uses that nickname, it feels demeaning, belittling, like they think of her as a child. 

“No, no. I like it. I just…” 

Max wonders if Chloe remembers. William had nicknames for them both. ‘Cutie’ for Max, ‘Sweetheart’ for Chloe. 

Max pulls away, whines internally when the comfiness of Chloe’s chest no longer embraces her, and gauges Chloe. Chloe blinks at her in expectance. She doesn’t seem to remember. Not consciously, at least.

For some reason, that smittens her more.

“Don’t stop.”

Chloe utters a low “um, okay” that sounds bewildered, and Max drifts into sleep, content and in the safe arms of a Price.

…

That’s when she really notices it, how similar the new Price is to the old one. 

It brings Max an unexpected comfort. Maybe william isn’t gone. Maybe he lives through Chloe. Maybe, if she searches hard enough, she’ll find him smiling that warm smile of his, telling her that he’d never let anything happen to her.

… 

In retrospect, it’s hard to believe that Chloe might have any similarities with her father.

William was what you’d call an honest man. The only jewellery he wore was his engagement ring, and the only time Max heard him cursing was when he tried to imitate a character from an 80s action movie. 

“You bett’r finish your damn work, sunny boy,” he said with a horrible cowboy accent. He leaned in closer and trapped Max and Chloe in the couch with his hovering, meaty arms. “Or there’ll be trouble. Big, tooth-rottin’ trouble.”

It earned him a dopey-eyed, slack-jawed look from Max and a roll of the eyes from Chloe.

“Ugh, Dad. You are being _ so _ embarrassing.”

He feigned offense, pressing a hand to his chest. “My own daughter, betraying me.” 

He couldn’t keep up the act, and broke into laughter. Chloe followed suit seconds later. 

Max remembers thinking how similar their laughs were, albeit William’s was calmer and deeper, and Chloe’s was less controlled and shrieky.

She remembers telling herself, _ whoa, they really _ are _ father and daughter. _

…

William was a simple man, living a simple life, working a simple work, and building a beautiful, intricate family. 

He was simple, and Chloe exhibits a wild teenager aura years after she’s officially still a teenager. She has a collection of bracelets and ear piercings, like how normal girls would have a collection of purses and heels. 

“You know,” she says one afternoon, hand propped up against the window to support her face as she drives - and breaks the speed limit as she does so, “I don’t get why cursing is, like, a taboo in society. I mean, it’s a part of life! It’s, like, a form of harmless self-expression or something.”

“Are you still mad about that time they banned you from Chuck e Cheese?” Max asks before stuffing a sprinkle-filled donut to her face. With how puffy her cheeks are, she might as well be a squirrel. 

“Dude, I didn’t say anything _ remotely _ insulting.”

“I’m pretty sure ‘ballsack dickwad’ and ‘Squidward-nosed ass’ counts as being insulting.”

“Oi, they’re creative. Give me some credit.” Maybe they are, but Max isn’t about to tell her that. Chloe glances at the small box of donuts sitting in Max’s lap, and her growing hunger is as obvious as a neon sign in the middle of the night in an empty road. She might as well be panting and drooling. “Hit me.”

Max grabs Chloe’s favorite - chocolate with an abundant amount of extra sugar - and smirks when Chloe opens her mouth expectantly.

“Here comes the choo-choo train~” she sings, giggling intensifying when Chloe makes a show of moaning and humming and chewing all-too-loudly. 

“Choo-choo, Maxie,” she says, low and soft, and Max swears she hears _ his _ voice. Chloe looks at her with a smile that only slightly dims down when she says, “Hey, you got a bit of donut smudge in your lip,” and Max is taken back to many years ago, back when she was half her size now and still wore dresses regularly and couldn’t pronounce ‘encyclopedia’ correctly, nor spell it properly.

“You’ve got a little something in your mouth there, Maxine.”

“What?” she asked, terrified. “What is it?”

William smiled at her and swayed to his knees. “C’mere.” Max beckoned forward, and William pulled a handkerchief from his breast pocket. “It’s okay. You’re fine, cutie.” He smiled fondly at her, erasing some of her fears with it, and tapped the silky-thin fabric against her cheek delicately, as though he was afraid she might break if he wasn’t careful enough. “There. All done.”

Max eased into herself, finding it easier to smile and lighter to laugh. “Thanks, Mister Price.”

“Now, now-” he looked bashful and joyful at once “-how many times do I have to tell you not to call me that? You’re making me feel old, kiddo.”

“Sorry, Mister William.”

His smile turned into something warmer and more real. “Don’t be sorry, Maxine.”

Chloe, just like her father, doesn’t let the bits of food smear Max’s face, but unlike her father, she doesn’t use a handkerchief. (Whether it’s because she doesn’t bring them or she likes finding petty excuses to touch Max’s face is up for debate.) 

Her hand is colder, too. And thinner. More slender. And though the delicacy Chloe gives her is the same as her father’s - though William was never as clumsy as she - it still feels… different. Deeper. More intimate. Not quite better, but definitely not in any way worse.

Chloe isn’t her father. Not at all. But she’s more alike with him than meets the eye. She might not have his politeness, nor his willingness to respect and obey the law, but she’s like him in the way that really matters.

“Thanks, Miss Price.”

Chloe rolls her eyes and snorts. “Way to make a girl feel old, Caulfield.”

…

Chloe doesn’t have his red-ish rich brown hair, but over the years, her hair has begun to darken from a dusty blonde, to a strawberry blonde, and settled in a very brown-looking brown hair. (When it’s not dyed blue, that is.)

Hers isn’t as saturated as William’s. Max supposes it’s because Chloe never cares for her hair. Or maybe, the more poetic part of her thinks, it’s because, over the years, more and more bad things happen to her, and though she herself tries to act like it never changes her, like nothing will ever change her, her hair says otherwise. Over the years, it has dulled down and nestled into something else entirely.

Max prefers the former option.

Chloe’s hair isn’t the same as William’s, but over the years, it has grown to become like his.

At certain times, it makes her look even more like her father, especially when she smiles. 

She might not have his hair color nor his hair style, but she has his smile. (That, and his heart.)

… 

The first time Max sees her wear flannel plaid, she has to bite her tongue to avoid saying his name and subtly pinch herself as a reminder that this is no dream. 

Chloe is not William. Of course she’s not. 

The flannel is loose on her, whereas on william, it tucked him snugly and tightly. He had broad shoulders and fat in his arms, so it makes sense. 

Unlike her father, Chloe doesn’t tuck the flannel under her belt. At least not wholeheartedly.

She wears her regular, heavy boots instead of her father’s simpler, more classical shoes.

The top half of her shirt is either unbuttoned completely or buttoned haphazardly. William never forgot to button his clothing, nor tie his laces, nor wear his tie before leaving for work. Chloe never bothers with any of them, and on the rare occasion that she does, she does so messily. Or maybe she does it on purpose to fit more with her punk look.

She gives off a grungier, less sophisticated look than her father. Not to mention she’s lankier han he was. She looks so, so different, and yet… there’s something about her… 

… something about the way that flannel looks so worn, so old…

Max’s eyes widen in realisation of what that something is. “Is that…?”

Chloe ducks her head, cute and bashful, and smiles a smile meant to be easygoing. “My dad’s? Yeah. Yeah, it was.”

She raises her arms up as she gives herself a once-over. She chuckles gently. “I feel like I’m insulting him.”

Max cups her cheek and shakes her head. Full of conviction, she says, “You’re making him proud.” 

Chloe searches something in her, eyes darting wildly. “You really think so?”

Max knows so. Max knows because she sees him in her eyes, and he’s chuckling and shaking his head because he knows as well as Max does how stupid Chloe’s acting. And yeah, maybe he doesn’t approve of all of her life choices, but there’s never a time where he’s not proud of his precious sunshine.

…

Chloe is beanies, leather, loud music, and electric blue.

William was plaids, cotton, country music, and warm orange.

Yet they’re both Prices, and when a Price loves a woman, they love them so fiercely their woman will have no choice but to accept and have faith in their love.

Just ask Max and Joyce, they’ll tell you all about those goofballs.

… 

Chloe has his sense of justice.

Though, calling it ‘sense of justice’ might be over the top. 

It’s more like she can’t stand certain kinds of injustice in this world, as her father once couldn’t.

“Oh, why now _ that’s _ simply atrocious,” he said one day, alone with her on the living room’s couch, scowling at the TV. “If he said he loves her, then why’s he cheating on her?” 

Max was only starting to enjoy this cheesy, dumb thing they call soap operas. She was at that age where certain areas in her body would hurt at times and the thought of kisses, crushes, confessions, and the L-word crossed her mind more and more often than she was comfortable with.

She was glad Chloe was helping her mom at the diner - though calling what she did ‘helping’ was debatable. If she were to find out Max secretly enjoyed this, then the teasing wouldn’t end even after she got her 20th grandchild.

“Maybe he thinks she’s doing the same thing to him,” she said, shrugging to herself. “Maybe she’s not treating him right.”

William looked at her and shocked her with his intensity. “That still doesn’t excuse his behaviour. Nothing excuses it.” He turned to face her, and grasped her shoulder. He hadn’t done it with a hint of aggression, but Max found herself ogling him anyways. “Promise me you’ll never be unfaithful, Maxine.”

“W-what?” Max blushed. The question was so sudden. She barely believed she’d ever get a boyfriend, much less cheat on said boyfriend. “Of course not.”

“I’m being serious, Maxine.”

“I am too.” She didn’t get it, not back then. She didn’t understand the reason why grown ups would sometimes refuse to talk about their problems, and why they would lie about who they liked. 

(She didn’t get many things back then, like why she was supposed to like boys and why she really, really liked it when Chloe hugged her for some reason, which was weird because Chloe was her BFF and they saw each other everyday, so she shouldn’t be _ that _excited to see her.)

Clearly, William still wasn’t satisfied, so Max tried to be level-headed as she chose her words. “I have a hard time liking boys, but, um, yeah. I won’t cheat on my boyfriend or-” she refused the urge to scowl “-husband.”

Somehow, something about those two words didn’t sound right. 

“Good.” He released her. “If you ever have any problems with your lover, then talk to him about it. Don’t worsen the problem by doing something that’ll hurt her.”

Chloe says the same thing, eight or so years later. 

“Well this is fuckin’ bolonies. Why the fuck would Jules play with her feelings like that?”

As it turns out, Chloe, in fact, likes soap operas too. Probably more than Max does. 

A lot more.

Not that Chloe will ever admit that. Ever.

“It’s just a show,” Max says.

Chloe ignores Max’s reassurances, too invested in the fictional world. “If she doesn’t like something about Rue, then she should talk about it! Don’t just do-” she gestures vehemently to the laptop screen “-_ that! _”

Like father like daughter indeed.

Though, it is obvious that Chloe doesn’t quite have the same grace as William when it comes to speaking. That, and verbal brain-to-mouth filter.

Max can’t stop staring at her. It should’ve clued her in, years ago, the reason why William referred to her future lover as ‘her’ instead of ‘him’.

Had she been that obvious?

Had he known from the beginning, how deeply she’d fallen from Chloe, back before Max herself had even realised?

Maybe.

Maybe he’d always known that they never were just best friends. Maybe he’d seen something in the way Max looked at Chloe with such adoration and praise. Maybe he’d seen how obviously Max liked to touch, hug, and sometimes kissed Chloe on the cheek. Maybe he wasn’t clueless.

He was the opposite of his daughter, that way.

“I love you, Chloe.”

Chloe glances at her, befuddled. Her befuddlement switches into warmth and gentleness. “Love you too, cutie.”

**Author's Note:**

> The hardest part about writing this story wasn’t actually writing it himself, but how I kept on switching between the past and the present. See, English isn’t my native language, and I still have trouble understanding when to use “may” and when to use “might”. This story certainly challenged me to be mindful. 
> 
> One thing that kind of stuck to me about this story is the lack of kisses and romance in it. This story is less a story and more of a character study and comparisons between the two characters. I’ve always find it interesting how different Chloe is with her parents. 


End file.
